


Perfect Imperfections

by Spencer5460



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Episode: s04e22 Sweet Revenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the little idiosyncrasies, the secrets only we share, that hold us together</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Imperfections

**Perfect Imperfections**

_“Be calm. Be calm until we can find you a new partner.”_

A new partner. The very idea is obscene. As if partners are assembled on conveyor belts, put together piece by interchangeable piece, then sent out, prepackaged and quality-checked. Spit-polished shoes, slacks stiff and wrinkle-free as cardboard. Hair neatly trimmed. Organized. Refined. 

Perfect.

Except that isn’t Starsky. Not even close. 

There was a time no one would have thought we could fit together. He has a thousand rough edges and I’m as accommodating as sandpaper.

He puts hot peppers on everything and washes his car more than his clothes.

He sneaks the sports section out of my newspaper when he thinks I won’t notice, then puts it back out of order and crumpled.

During long stakeouts – or boring movies – just when I’m about to drift off, he’ll stick his elbow in my ribs and bark ‘are you asleep?’, making me jump and infuriating me so much I want to choke him.

But then he’ll grin and I’ll give him a shove and in minutes all will be good between us again.

He believes in silly superstitions and ridiculous rituals. But no matter how much I tease, it all goes in one ear and out the other, and he buys me a good luck charm to ward off evil spirits just the same.

If only I had his belief in magic and some holy relic that could heal him now.

It’s his perfect imperfections that sift through my mind as I watch him lying in that sterile hospital bed, hooked up to a beeping heart monitor and dripping IV. Despite what it looks like, he’s not a mechanical man. He’s one hundred percent pure Starsky.

He may be damaged, but he’s _mine._

It’s the little idiosyncrasies, the secrets only we share, that hold us together.

We’ve formed to each other like rushing water and sediment carves a canyon out of rock, making what was once solid and static now curve gracefully through the landscape. Shaped by experiences and memories. Flowing conjoined, with intimate knowledge of the other. Outsiders can see what’s on the surface, but only we two know what’s underneath. 

Those fancy machines can’t possibly tell the doctors what I know about the condition of his heart. It’s the biggest I’ve ever known. 

He plays a mean guitar, but always lets me have the limelight because he knows how much I need it.

He loves holidays because they’re another excuse for giving gifts. Sometimes he even makes up birthdays just for fun. As if any day with him isn’t special enough.

But how can I explain that when he lays a hand on my knee, he opens up a lifeline straight to my heart with his touch? No words are needed between us. 

He never backs down, he never quits. Especially when it comes to me.

So now he’s fighting for his life. And I’m not going to give up on him. No matter what anyone says. Because even if Starsky doesn’t make it, he’ll still be my partner. There’s no replacement for that.

FIN


End file.
